


John's Reunion

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confusion, Dancing, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Hotel, Jealousy, John's past, M/M, Reunion, Sherlock's Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys attend John's reunion, but it's Sherlock's past, not John's, that they must confront.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John was sitting on his bed, turning the reunion invitation over and over in his hands. He hated these sorts of things. He'd skipped all the other ones before making silly excuses -- still in school, still in training, out of the country -- and he always told himself when he was properly accomplished he would go. Now he was regretting that promise. He was a discharged soldier, a retired surgeon, a part time flu doctor and a detective's assistant. It didn't matter that he'd been gravely injured, left with a tremor in his hands, still working in the field he loved, and having wonderful adventures with Sherlock. He knew how it would be seen to everyone. 

 _Who cares what they think?_ John asked himself defiantly, but he knew that he cared. Then again . . . he could always tweak the truth a little bit. He was still a doctor after all. And if Sherlock came along with him, he could deduce all of the other people's flaws and make him feel better. And Sherlock was the exciting one so surely people would find him exciting. John smiled softly and stood up. Yes. This didn't have to be completely awful. 

Now the hard part: convincing Sherlock to go to a reunion. It was everything he hated -- crowds and small talk and strangers and boring. 

He ventured down to the kitchen, starting the kettle. "Hey, Sherlock? Since you don't have a case at the moment, what would you say to a little holiday?" He glanced in the direction of the sitting room and waited a bit nervously for an answer. 

Sherlock looked up at John, reading his face. They'd only been flatmates a few months, but surely John knew him well enough to know that 'a little holiday' would not affect Sherlock in the way it might the average person. Yet, he was still asking. This meant he must have a reason. Sherlock squinted his eyes a little, trying to find the reason. He couldn't. 

"Why?" he asked.

"Just to get away from the boring . . . sameness," John said, wincing at the words. He didn't feel like he was doing a good job of convincing Sherlock.

"Are you bored here?" Sherlock asked, sitting up. This was a new issue. "Why?"

"No! But you must be bored, with no cases or anything. And I have to go so I just thought you'd like to as well."

Sherlock looked over at John. "Maybe," he said. "Where?"

"The Cotswolds," John said, coming out with the tea. He handed Sherlock his mug.

"Hmmm," Sherlock said. "And what responsibilities will I have during this so-called 'weekend away'? Be specific. No tricks." He took a sip of tea and nodded thanks. 

A dinner. A . . . crowded dinner," John said, looking at his mug.  
  
"Will there be children there?" Sherlock said. "I don't do well with children, John." He said it as if it was an anomaly -- even though both of them knew that Sherlock did not do well with people in general, regardless of their age.

"There shouldn't be any children," John said.

Sherlock stood up and got a piece of paper. On it, he wrote 'no children'. He looked up at John. "This dinner -- who are the people who will be forcing us to attend?"

John shrugged, "It depends who shows up."

"Who are they, John? What is this all about?" Sherlock asked. "Something is going on and you are not telling me the whole story."

"It's just a reunion, that's all," John said.

"Medical school? Will they all be doctors?" Sherlock said.

"Yeah," John nodded.

"And were any of these people your . . . friends?"

"People I went to school with," John said. "Mike will be there."

"And were any of these people your . . . enemies?" Sherlock asked, wondering if there might be some drama he could kick up.

John thought back to everyone he'd known. "No, there wasn't anyone like that. I'm not you," he teased, smiling.

"And, could you clarify again, what _my_ purpose at this event is? Why are you trying to trick me into going?"

"Not trick you. I just want company," he shrugged. "I don't want to go by myself."

"Why not?" Sherlock had the sense this was one of those things that would be hard for him to relate to, but it seemed important to John which, for some reason, made it seem important to him. Sometimes he found himself wanting to understand John in ways he'd never really wanted to with anyone else.

"I don't know. People always bring someone -- I mean, it's usually a wife or something but friends, too. It can be a good friend," he finished quickly, wishing he hadn't compared Sherlock to a wife.

"Are you planning on telling people I'm your 'good friend'?" he asked, making air quotes.

"Don't make the air quotes. You are my good friend," John said.

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Sherlock said. "Are we planning for us to pretend, you know, that we're in love?"

"No!" John said quickly. "No. If you want to come along, it'll just be the truth. I'll say you’re my friend. Or my colleague. Whichever you want." 

"Are you sure? Are you sure you weren't upstairs feeling sorry for yourself that you didn't have a girlfriend to take and show off and then you thought, hold on, Sherlock is handsome, charming and devastatingly clever so I'll pawn him off as my life partner and everyone will think I've hit the jackpot?" Sherlock said, smiling. Why John reacted the way he did to people implying they were a couple was something Sherlock hadn't quite figured out yet, but he did quite enjoy teasing John about it.

"No! Stop that," John said. He felt his face flushing and he really wished it wouldn't because he felt like it was making him out to be a liar. "I may have thought, for just a second, that it might have been nice to show up with a wife but . . . but a lot has happened since I went to school with these people. The war, getting shot, being involved with these cases…I just want to bring you with me because you are a part of my life now." 

Now Sherlock felt bad, which he didn't like. "John, I bet you'll be the best doctor there. Thanks for asking me to come along," Sherlock said. "When are we going?"

"It's this weekend," John said. "Only two days and we'll be back home." He was surprised Sherlock had actually agreed. "Thank you. I am going to finish packing. I think there's only one black tie dinner but mostly it's casual." He stood and took his mug to the sink, smiling softly. "Sound good?" 

"I'm sure I've got a black tie somewhere," Sherlock said, partly regretting this already. Perhaps there'd be a murder there and he'd have something to do. He'd learned enough from John already to keep that thought inside his head. "I think I'll go lie down for a bit."  
  
John nodded and went up to his room to pack, going to bed without going back down stairs. The next morning he showered and made a small breakfast while he waited for Sherlock, making sure he had the right address for the hotel. 

Sherlock came out of his room, carrying a small bag and his suit. "Are you hiring a car? Are you a safe driver? I don't want to die on a 'little holiday' to the Cotswolds, John. That'd be humiliation." He poured himself a cup of tea.

"I'm an excellent driver. It's going to be fine. We're taking a taxi to get the car and we'll be on our way. Do you want breakfast or anything?"

"No," Sherlock said, picking up his stuff. "It'll give me something to complain about on the way." He smiled and headed down.

"Sherlock, it's a holiday! Please don't complain," John said. They made their way to hire the car, which was nicer than John expected. He put the address into the satnav and set off. 

Sherlock tried to get comfortable in the seat. He laid it down flat for a bit and bent his knees up. "Are we there yet?" he asked before pulling the seat back up quickly and fiddling with the radio.

"You know it's a couple of hours away. Just take a nap or something and we'll be there before you know it."

"Perhaps we should talk instead," Sherlock said, getting out his pad of paper again. "Why do you always shout that you're not gay when people suggest we're more than friends?" He looked over at John.

John flushed at the question and squeezed the steering wheel. "Because I'm not gay, Sherlock."

"But you're not a lot of things -- you don't spend all your time listing those things," Sherlock said. "Do you think you have some kind of . . . issue?" He made like he was scribbling notes.

"What are you writing?" John asked defensively. "I do list those things when people accuse me of being something I'm not! I mean, I'm not an accountant but if someone asked me to do their books or something I would have to say I'm not!"

Sherlock looked over at John. "Have you got something against homosexuals?" he asked.

"No! My sister is gay, Sherlock. It's just -- I'm not. That's all." He glanced over and licked his lips lightly. "I told you it was all fine."

"So you definitely don't want me to pretend to be your boyfriend? I will if you want," Sherlock said. "Or are you thinking you might get off with some woman this weekend?" 

"I don't want you to pretend to be my boyfriend.  What would be the point of that?" John asked. "And no, I don't think that I will get off with some woman because it's only two days and we're sharing a room and just -- no."

"All right, don't get so huffy," Sherlock said. "Would you rather pick the topic of discussion?"

"I'm not huffy. Why are you so insistent that I am gay? Or that you pretend to be my boyfriend?" John asked. Sherlock had brought this up several times now, and it was starting to sit funny with John. The first night they were out together when Sherlock had misinterpreted John's curiosity as interest, he had quickly shut it down. Now he was acting like he was trying to open it back up, and it didn't make any sense.   

"I'm not trying to insist you are gay. You say you're not -- there's no reason I should question it," Sherlock answered. He looked out the window. "I just didn't want you to feel bad about being on your own . . ."

"I don't," John said. "I am perfectly fine."

"I was trying to be . . . kind. Sorry. I won't do that again."

John flushed lightly, this time with shame. "I'm not angry with you," he said slowly. "I just . . . I really am fine and I don't want you to worry."

"Well, let's change the subject," Sherlock said. "What do we have to do this weekend besides the dinner business?"

"There's a sort of party tonight. Music and mingling and probably drinking. There will probably be snacking but no real dinner -- that's up to us beforehand. The dinner is tomorrow night."

"Don't leave me on my own -- I don't want to talk to people," Sherlock said. "Can you just speak for both of us, please?"

"I won't leave you alone. You're my guest," John said, glancing over at him. They were getting close now and he was hoping to lie down a bit before dinner. "You go where I go."

"Good, because I don't know if you know this about me but mingling isn't really my strong suit," Sherlock said smiling.

"I've noticed. I'll do as much of the talking as I can but please try to be nice, okay? If you have any deductions . . . don't tell them to anyone but me, okay?"

"I plan to keep this notebook next to me the whole time, jotting down anything I notice," Sherlock said, waving the pad and then putting it into his pocket.

John thought about it for a moment before shrugging. "Fine. How much trouble could that really be?"

They were quiet for the rest of the drive. John pulled into the car park, and all of a sudden Sherlock started to feel a little anxious. Why had he agreed to come do this? Why did he let John talk him into this? He knew, of course, that John hadn't actually talked him into it -- somehow Sherlock had got confused by John's feelings and had offered to come. Why did John's feelings do that to him?


	2. Arrival

"There should be a registration table when we walk into the lobby. I'll take care of all that if you want to hang back and wait for me." John led the way into the hotel and was a bit overwhelmed by everything going on. His class hadn't been very large, but it seemed most of it had shown up all at once. He saw a lot of faces he recognised and many he didn't.

He slowly made his way to the front of the line for his name tag and the guest one for Sherlock. As he was making his way back he bumped into someone. "Sorry . . . wait, Sam?"

"Hello, John! I heard you'd been shot! Glad you're alive," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. John wished people wouldn’t lead with that when speaking to him. Another man walked over to them and wrapped his arm around his waist, muttering something. "I know, love. We're going up in a second," Sam said. He turned back to John. "Did you come on your own?"

"I brought a colleague along." John turned to Sherlock and waved him over. "This is --"

"Sherlock," the man finished for John, who looked up a bit surprised.

Sherlock looked up at hearing his name, even though he didn't need to to know who the man was. "Victor," he said softly. He glanced at John and then the man standing next to Victor. "Odd to see you here," he added.

"Indeed," Victor said, moving even a little closer to Sam. "You look well."  
  
"As do you," Sherlock said. He pulled John, moving past the men to get them to the registration table. "Don't introduce me as your colleague, for fuck's sake," he muttered under his breath. "I thought you said we were friends." 

"We are. I didn't think we'd be running off before I explained!" John said, struggling to keep up. "What's wrong? Who was that?"

"Who?" Sherlock said even though he knew precisely to whom John was referring. "Someone I used to know. Let's go to the room, yeah?" he added, trying to move them away.  
  
"Know from where? Sherlock, it's down the other hall," John corrected. "How do you know Sam's boyfriend?"

"I know him from a long time ago," Sherlock said. "Who is Sam? I don't know Sam." Once the door was unlocked, he pushed into the room and dropped his stuff. "I need the toilet," he said and went into the bathroom. He stood for a few moments looking into the mirror. He wondered how much older he looked. Victor had looked pretty much the same. He flushed the toilet before washing his hands and splashing some water on his face. He glanced at the mirror again and thought about the fact that this weekend was for John. It was all supposed to be about John, and Sherlock was going to make sure that was the case. He went back out into the room.

"Look," John said when Sherlock reappeared. "I know that look you gave him. The way you guys spoke to each other. Is he . . . an ex?" The words came out of John's mouth slowly and awkwardly. That man couldn't be, though, because Sherlock didn't do that sort of thing. He had his work, which he claimed was enough. Was it? Or had he lied to fend of what he thought were John's advances? What was so bad about him, anyways? John caught himself there. There was no reason to be angry. He wasn't gay -- it didn't matter if Sherlock didn't like him like that.

"So you think you can interpret people's looks now, do you? Simply being in my presence has taught you so much?" Sherlock said. Yes, he was dodging the question, but it seemed like an irrelevant topic -- it had nothing to do with Sherlock's life now and it certainly had nothing to do with this weekend. "Are we going to go get something to eat?" he asked, sitting down on one of the beds.

John stared at him for a moment. Sherlock may as well have been wearing a big neon sign that said YES the way he was avoiding the question. John sighed and decided to let it go for now, pushing it to the back of his mind. "Yes, we can go now," he said, making sure he had the room key.

They went down to the lobby and looked around. "There's a pub across the road -- should we just walk over there? Or would you rather 'mingle'?" Sherlock asked.

"Do you want to mingle?" John asked, raising his brows at Sherlock. Then he shook his head and glanced around. "Let's go to the pub. I'm hungry," he said.

"I prefer just to mingle with you," Sherlock said, leading them out the door. When they got to the pub, they ordered their food at the bar and got some drinks and then found a table over in the corner. "So," he said, "having spent all of two minutes looking over some of the people who have come to this thing, it's now clear to me that you are the most successful of all your fellow classmates." He smiled and took a drink.

John smiled as he took a sip. "That is very nice of you to say. I doubt it's true but thank you," he smiled.

"Of course it's true," Sherlock said. "You've done amazing things. You still do -- you use your training at the surgery and also to solve crimes for Scotland Yard. I bet half of them here use their education doing plastic surgery on their boring wives. You're amazing, really." His face flushed a little -- perhaps from the alcohol on an empty stomach? "Anyway," he said. "I hope you're glad you came and that you brought me along. I don't want to ruin things."

John flushed lightly and stared down at his drink, smiling stupidly and nudging his arm lightly. "Thank you," he said again, glad that the food had just arrived so he'd have something else to focus on. "I am glad that I brought you along."

Sherlock poked at the food, taking a bite before finishing his drink. "I've come to the Cotswolds before -- a couple times -- with my family. I mean when I was a child. Maybe tomorrow we could drive round, I could show you what I remember." He wasn't sure why he offered that but now he had.

"Yeah," John said, a bit more enthusiastically than might have been necessary. "The dinner isn't until eight so really we have all day to do whatever we want. I won't be heartbroken missing any more mingling," he smiled. He would much rather spend the day with Sherlock, learning about his past. He wasn't exactly an open book so John wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. 

"All right then," Sherlock said, eating a bit more. "But if you do want to go to stuff, that's fine. It's your reunion, you should do whatever you want. If you want me to butt out, I'll stay in the room and do my best to stay out of trouble." He smiled a little and look round the pub. He thought he remembered his family coming here, but then realised they hadn't -- he was confusing memories.

John nodded. "I don't think you'd do well trying to stay out of trouble," he smiled. "And I see Mike all the time. Everyone else will just bragging about their success and really, I don't even know why I came, but I am having a nice time with you so let's keep that up."

"Let's," Sherlock said. "I'm enjoying this. I mean, it's similar to what we do at home but just in a different place." He realised just how stupid that sounded, but it was like the drink had loosened his lips a little. "I think I want to say something. I'm very glad we met, John. I mean, I guess I presumed it was obvious what with you saving my life and all. But maybe I've never said it so now I am."

John looked over at him and for a long moment he didn't know what to say. That was the most emotional thing Sherlock had ever said to him, probably to anyone. _Well, maybe not anyone. Maybe he said meaningful things to that old boyfriend._ John flushed and pushed the thought away. "I'm really glad we met as well," he finally said when he realised he should be saying something.

Sherlock finished his meal -- meaning he ate a couple more bites and then pushed it to the side. "I'll get us another round," he said, standing up and then returning with two more drinks. When he returned he said, "I think I saw some of the reunion people on the other side if you want to go sit with them."

John shook his head. "There's going to be enough of that at the social later on. Tell me about the time you came here. What did you do?"

"Well, I was quite small. I know it's hard to believe but I was once a child," he said. "I think my parents had friends who lived round here. We stayed in a little B&B, not a fancy pants hotel like ours. I can't remember a lot of details -- walking around, maybe swimming, definitely fighting."

John smiled. "I would have liked to see that," he said. He tried to imagine it and it was very hard -- he could only picture a toddler smoking and insulting everyone in sight.

"Well, no photos exist, I'm afraid," Sherlock said. He laughed a little. "But I can tell you, Mycroft was basically exactly the same as he is now. Just shorter." He laughed again. "Did you go on many holidays with your family?"

John shook his head. "Both of my parents worked a lot so there wasn't much free time. Or money, really." He shrugged. "I'll just have to make up for it now," he smiled.

"Well, I'll happily take you walking around and swimming if you want. Hopefully no fighting, though," Sherlock said. The drink had warmed and relaxed him. He was having a good time actually. "I've not checked my phone in the last hour," he said. "Actually, it's quite nice."

John licked his lips and braced himself for what he was going to say next, given the talk they had in the car earlier he was nervous. But the drinks had loosened him up a bit and it was the truth after all and he needed to say it. "I really like that you like spending time with me because you hardly like anyone, and it makes me feel good that I made the cut."

He said it too fast and too quietly, and he immediately took a long drink so he wouldn't have to say anything else or see Sherlock react. 

Sherlock smiled a little but tried not to show it. "Well, yes, I am rather picky on which humans' company I can tolerate," Sherlock said. "It appears you've made the cut. It was probably your jumpers that won me over." Now he smiled properly. "Should we go back to the hotel?"

"Yes, let's go see what's going on over there." He put some money down on the bar for the both of them before following Sherlock out. He felt very good -- very happy and relaxed.

Sherlock stood up. He had actually meant they should go back to the room, but he tried to keep an open mind about seeing what was going on. He kept telling himself that this was about John: whatever had compelled him to agree in the first place still mattered, even though if it was a little foggy in his mind right now. He followed John in and they walked over to the doors of a large room. He could hear people talking and laughing inside. He stayed close to John.

John looked around for a moment. "Want another drink?" he asked, making his way towards the bar.

"Sure," Sherlock said. He let John order this time. He wished they could go be alone in their room. He wondered if they'd go straight to sleep or do more talking. Then he wondered why he had enjoyed the talking so much -- let's be honest, it was 'sharing' more than talking and Sherlock was not usually very interested in sharing his life. Was he already drunk or did it have something to do with John? John had changed a lot about what Sherlock was interested in these last few months. 

John handed Sherlock a drink and looked around the room. He saw Sam and his date, and he felt his stomach flip with . . . what? He couldn't tell but he wanted to get away from them. "Let's go talk to Mike," he suggested, tugging him along the other way.

Sherlock followed John. Mike's face was a bit red, undoubtedly from drinking and laughing as he continued to do both as John and Sherlock stood there. He glanced at the other people around them; John clearly knew them all but he could see why Mike was the only one John still spoke to. The others were tedious and also a bit ugly, though Sherlock knew that wasn't really relevant to whatever he was analysing. That's when he realised he'd forgotten what he was analysing, so he just stayed behind John, trying not to get involved.

John chatted with Mike, laughing and drinking and trying to make sure Sherlock was comfortable.

Sherlock noticed John's glass was almost empty so he nipped to the bar to get two more. He looked up and saw the man who'd been with Victor, but he turned quickly before he saw anymore and returned to the group. He handed John his glass.

"Oh, thanks," he smiled, taking the new glass. He looked at the people dancing and wondered if Sherlock would like to dance. He tried to picture it, and he chuckled softly.

Sherlock smiled and leaned in a bit. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"I'm imagining you dancing," he admitted.

"Odd," Sherlock said. "And how am I doing, in your imagination, I mean?"

"I don't know. I can't picture it," he smiled.

"Hmmm . . . I feel like I've just been insulted," Sherlock said, taking another drink. 

"Show me then," John smiled, nudging his arm again.

"Don't be daft," Sherlock said. "I'm not going to go dance by myself. I'm not that drunk."

"I'll dance with you," John said, not even thinking about what he was saying.

"Are you serious? Are you that drunk?" Sherlock said. He tried to imagine it, but honestly he couldn't really. He looked up at the people standing around Mike still talking about whatever tedious thing they were talking about so he said, "All right then, come on." He took John's glass and set it down with his on a table. He headed towards the dance floor area.

John was surprised Sherlock had agreed, but he wasn't about to back out now. He followed Sherlock and moved a bit closer to him when they found a good spot. "Do you know how to dance?" he asked.

"Does one really have to 'know how to dance'?" Sherlock asked. "I'm pretty sure all you do is this." He lifted one of John's hands and put an arm around his waist. The song was slow and much too loud, but he swayed them to its rhythm. "Well, can you imagine it now?" he asked in John's ear.

"I'm sure you had lessons at some point," John said back, unable to believe this was happening. He looked across the room and saw Sam looking over at him, smiling stupidly. Sam's date was looking as well, not looking as pleased. John felt something in his gut and -- like before -- he was acting without thinking. He tugged Sherlock close, pressed flush against him and turned his face into Sherlock's neck. He smelled good -- why hadn't John noticed that before? By the time he realised what he was doing -- and how it would look -- he felt too silly to stop it. It was already happening now and if he just stuck with it, it would be fine. He hoped. 

"John," Sherlock said, putting his mouth close to John's ear so he could be heard. It seemed like John had lost his balance a bit -- perhaps they were drunker than Sherlock realised. "Are you all right? Do you need to go up to the room?"

John shook his head against Sherlock's neck. "Just a bit longer, okay?" 

"All right," Sherlock said. He moved a hand up John's back just in case, to steady him. "You didn't mention dancing before we left, you know -- I could sue you for breach of contract."

"We never signed anything," John smiled, moving to look up at him properly now.

"Now I'm worried about what other tricks you have up your sleeve," Sherlock said, smiling. This was nice, it was actually all right dancing with John.

"Hmm. You're a great detective, supposedly. What are you afraid of?" John grinned.

Sherlock looked down at John's face. "I'm not afraid of anything," he said and then pulled John a bit closer.

John's eyes widened just a bit, but he accepted the challenge by wrapping both arms around Sherlock's waist. "I suppose we'll see," he said quietly.

"Are you always like this when you drink?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm not drunk. Only a little. Maybe," John said. "Are you drunk?"

"I'm not certain," Sherlock said. "Can we go up to the room now?"

"Yeah, we can go up now," John nodded.

Sherlock pulled John's hand and led them back to the room. He was a little drunk, he could tell in the way he was walking, and John seemed to be sticking quite close to him, so maybe he was also a bit drunker than he'd thought. Sherlock also needed the toilet quite badly, he realised as he waited as John dug for the room key.

John felt a flush in his belly being led so quickly back to the room. He didn't know if it was because he was drunk or not but it made him feel good for some reason. He fished the key out of his pocket, fumbling a bit before opening the door. Sherlock rushed passed him for the bathroom, and John shut the door before flopping down onto the bed. 

When Sherlock returned to the room, he sat down on the edge of John's bed. "Do we have to set an alarm?" he asked and he started to take off his shoes.

"No. The dinner is at night and the day is all ours to go exploring the town," John said. He looked over at Sherlock, still lying down. "Are you still going to show me around?"

"Yes, sure," Sherlock said. He moved over to the other bed and slipped under the covers. "I've had fun so far, John. I'll be honest -- I wasn't sure I would but I have." He looked over and smiled.

John stood and got into his pajama pants and t-shirt before getting under the covers as well. "I've had fun as well," he said. As he stared back at Sherlock, smiling softly, he realised he felt better than he had in a long time. "Thank you for coming with me."

"Don't snore," Sherlock said and he reached over and turned out his light. He did feel sleepy, though he wasn't confident he'd make it through the whole night -- he rarely did.

"I can't make any promises," John said, closing his eyes. The drinking had made him very relaxed and with his next breath he was already dozing off. 

When Sherlock woke up a few hours later, it took him a second to remember where he was and whose snoring he was listening to. He reached over to grab his phone to keep him busy, but then he decided he'd rather not look at his phone -- he'd rather not be tempted to think of work or be reminded of what was going on elsewhere. Instead he closed his eyes again, escaping into his mind palace until he was ready to sleep again. This time he stayed asleep until morning.


	3. Adventure

John woke up on his back, blinking his eyes open and looking at Sherlock in the other bed. He got up, going into the bathroom before coming back out to start making tea. 

Sherlock rubbed his eyes once he heard John moving about. He stretched a little and asked, "Have you got a hangover? Headache? Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah, I slept well. I don't have a hangover or anything -- I wasn't that drunk. What about you?" he asked, suddenly remembering the dancing. He flushed lightly and focused on his tea, forgetting to bring Sherlock his cup. 

"Yeah, it was good. I may have had dreams," he said, trying to remember. No. He couldn't. "But I can't remember." He sat up in bed. "Tea?" he asked, holding out his hands.

"Oh yeah, here," John said, bringing over his mug. "So, where do we start?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Well, I'll have to look at my phone -- I bet if I scan the name of local businesses, something will spark a memory. I just . . . I just have kind of been avoiding my phone. I've liked being . . . properly away from it all, you know. It's probably because I know it'll only be a weekend, but I've kind of liked it."

John smiled softly. "Forget the phone, then. Let's just wander around and try to spark you memory that way." He moved to start getting dressed, excited now. "It'll be an adventure."

"All right then," Sherlock said, smiling. He finished his tea and slowly got out of bed. "I'll shower first, okay?" He moved to the bathroom and started his morning routine. The pressure from the shower felt good on his shoulders, and he quite liked the smell of the soap and shampoo. He got dressed and returned. "The shampoo is nice," he muttered, straightening the bed a bit and then sitting down on it. "I think I'm hungry actually," he said as if it was a strange realisation.

"Do you want to eat here or find something on our adventure?" John asked, putting the room key into his wallet again.

"Let's head out," Sherlock said. "I'm sure we'll find a cafe or something. Maybe we'll stumble on one of those places that only locals go in but is absolutely perfect." He grabbed his coat and followed John out.   
  
On the street, Sherlock took a deep breath of the cool, clean air, which actually made him cough a little but he quickly recovered. "It feels different here, don't you think?" he asked.

"Yeah. Everything does, now that you mention it. We're not on our phones, you're eating . . . " He smiled and looked over at Sherlock. "It's better than I expected it to be."

"I don't know that you should get used to it," Sherlock said. "I'm not sure I'll be able to tolerate the difference much longer. I like . . . well, I like the things I know, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," John said. "I like the things I know too. It's very odd not nagging you -- I'm sure I'd start to miss it," John smiled.

"I suppose I hadn't noticed that difference. You don't nag me all that much, do you? Whoever said that was full of it."

"Well you know -- the eating and the smoking and all of that. And you're the one who said it," John said.

"Oh yes, now I remember. Yes, that's annoying. You shouldn't do that," Sherlock said. "I like it better when you don't."

"I like it better when you don't smoke," John grinned.

"What's it matter to you?" Sherlock said. He softened his voice. "I mean, is it just you don't like the smell?"

"It's not good for you," John said. "I'm just looking out for you."

"Worrying's not good for you either, you know," Sherlock said.

"See? You're killing both of us," John teased.

"Don't say that," Sherlock said. He glanced up. "Here -- let's go in here for breakfast. Maybe if you're pushing food into your face, you'll stop with the nagging." He smiled as he held the door open for John.

"I'll just nag with my mouth open and full of food and see how you like that," he teased.

"Disgusting," Sherlock said. "Worse than smoking." He grabbed two menus as they sat down at a table near the window. They ordered their food and the server brought their tea. Sherlock held his up to his face to warm his chilled cheeks. "I've not seen anything I recognised yet."

"Well, it's still early," John assured him. "I am sure something will spark your memory."

"Possibly," Sherlock said. "To be fair, I don't have any good memories really. I mean, they're not bad, just not particularly good." He fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers. "Is there anything you fancy doing?"  
  
"Well, I just want to see what you used to do," John said. "I've liked learning about you."

"Hmm," Sherlock said. "Are you planning on using said information against me at some point?" he looked down at his food. Although he had felt hungry, the first few bites seemed to have taken care of that need. "Is there anything else you want to know?"  
  
"I'm insulted you'd suggest such a thing!" John said. He mixed his food around and bit his lip. "Well . . . if you're really asking . . .I want to know about that man."

"Which man?" Sherlock asked, looking up. "The guy by the door? Why? Do you think he's up to something?" He squinted to try to get a better view.

"No! I mean the man at the reunion. The one with my friend Sam," John explained.

Sherlock sat back a little. "Oh," he said. "I knew him from uni. I've not really spoken to him since I left. I don't know what he's doing besides going on holiday with a doctor, which doesn't indicate much professional success, I think." Sherlock was not unaware of the irony of his remark, but he decided to ignore it.

"So, you guys dated back then?" John asked, wondering why and when Sherlock decided he wasn't doing that sort of thing anymore.

"I imagine so. I mean, I imagine that's what you'd call it," Sherlock said, looking down at his plate again. "Is that going to be a problem for you?"

"No! No, I was just curious about why . . . well, I mean, you said you don't do that anymore so I just wondered why," John said. And if it was just because you weren't interested in me, he added to himself. He realised he hadn't stopped thinking about that after all.

"I don't do that anymore -- have you seen me dating? I wasn't lying," Sherlock said.

"I know. I just thought since you had before maybe you weren't finding the right person." John mixed his food again and took a bite. What did that man have that John didn't have? _You're not even gay_ , John's brain reminded him. _But Sherlock didn't know that and he'd turned John down anyways_ , John's ego responded.

"I haven't been looking for the right person," Sherlock said. "I just . . . I suppose I prefer to focus on . . . look," he lifted his head and met John's eyes. "Is this going to be weird now, like when people say things about us? Is it going to upset you more now that you know . . . that's the kind of thing I . . . now that you know?"

"What? No! Sherlock, it doesn't matter what you like or what I know. It's all fine, okay?"

"And don't say anything to your friend. I don't know what he knows and it's all just . . ." Sherlock was still staring at his plate, having memorised everything on it.

John mixed his food around and then pushed his plate away. "Of course. Let's forget the whole thing, yeah? I was just being nosy. Let's go find another place." He started getting money out and grabbing his coat.

Sherlock watched John's reaction. It meant something other than the words coming out of his mouth -- Sherlock knew that for sure. What it meant, though, he wasn't sure; he was no expert at emotions, despite his being exposed to them more since John's arrival. He followed John out. "Look," he said, pointing. "There's a brown sign -- let's head over there. There might be something to see."

"Okay," John said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they walked. He wanted to ask so badly what had been wrong with him but he also wanted to drop it before Sherlock saw through it. Saw through to what? John cleared his throat softly. He knew the answer -- saw it in the back of his mind -- but he didn't say it.

"It's a park," Sherlock said as the gate came into view. "Do you want to walk through? It might be boring."

"I want to. Do you remember it at all?" John asked as they headed into it.

"Not really," Sherlock said, looking around. "Of course, Mycroft poisoned me once on holiday so my memory might have been wiped." He glanced over and smiled at John. "Do you like all this then, being outdoors and all?"

"Yeah, I always have. When I first came back it was comforting -- you know, the greenery and the sounds made me feel calm after the desert." John looked over at him and smiled.

"Here, hold on," Sherlock said. "Let me show you something I remember." He stepped off the path and looked around at some leaves before choosing one. He rolled it up and put it up to his mouth, blowing. It made a whistling sound. "Impressive, eh?" he said, throwing the leaf down and walking on.

John grinned. "Yeah, that was pretty cool," he said. "How'd you learn that?"

"Don't remember," Sherlock said. "But it's my best trick." He looked over and smiled at John. It was actually nice going on this walk, this was nice.

"Not your best one," John countered. 

Sherlock turned his head. "What do you mean?"

"That first day at Bart's -- the deductions," he smiled.

"That's not a trick, John," Sherlock said. "You know that. Don't cheapen it. That's like me saying you're best trick is suturing or something." He pulled some leaves off a bush and threw them at John's face. 

"I meant the impressive part!" John laughed, trying to catch a leaf and throw it back. It fluttered uselessly to the ground. "I should have been clearer."

"I think maybe that should become your mantra," Sherlock said. "Every hour, repeat to yourself 'I should have been clearer.' You're clever, John, but clarity is not your strong suit." He noticed a bench and stopped walking and sat down.

"I'm not sure how to take that so I'm going to pretend it was nice," John said as he sat down beside him.

"I think it's likely because you worry too much," Sherlock said. "You try to change or soften things out of worry and you end up being unclear." He smiled. "There could be worse habits, of course."

"Like smoking?" John laughed softly.

"Like back talking," Sherlock said. He pushed John's shoulder lightly.

John pushed back. "Not eating," he countered.

"What's that to do with you?" Sherlock said.

"It's unhealthy like the smoking," he said, looking over at him. 

"Still, it's _my_ health," Sherlock said. "If you're so concerned about my health, stop back talking because I think it's slowly giving me an ulcer."

John raised his brows. "But you're my friend. And if that's what we're going with you should stop smoking and start eating because I'm getting two ulcers," he teased.   
  
"Stop bossing me, John," Sherlock said, not entirely joking. "I don't smoke as much as I did before and I eat and sleep when I need to."

John's smile fell a bit. "I thought we were still playing. Sorry," he shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets again and looking out at the park. 

"No, I'm sorry," Sherlock said. He reached over and touched John's leg. "Sorry." He waited until John looked over at him. "I like how things are."

"Even the nagging?" John asked, raising his brows and smiling at him. "I like how things are, too."

"Yeah, even the nagging," Sherlock said. He looked round and added, "I want you to like how things are at the flat. I want you to stay."

"I do like things at the flat," John said. "I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock. I promise."

Sherlock looked over at John. He really was quite handsome. An image flashed in his mind of their dancing last night, and he looked away. "Should we get going maybe?"

John felt a bit intense at the moment and more so when Sherlock looked away from him like something had snapped. "Yeah, I suppose we should. I'd like to shower before we go down to the dinner." He stood and took his hands out of his pockets. He almost grabbed Sherlock's hand before reminding himself there was no reason to do that. He stuffed them into his pockets again to be safe. "Did you have an adventure?"

"Perhaps the start of one," Sherlock said.

"We can stay more days, if you wanted to," John said, wondering what more they could see here. He was curious now. 

"Let's just make it through this dinner," Sherlock said. They walked quietly for a bit. Finally Sherlock said, "Will there be dancing again tonight, do you think?"

John nodded. "There's going to be music again," he said. He remembered them dancing the night before and he felt his cheeks burning, not from the memory of the dancing exactly but from how he acted when he saw that man watching. From the way he'd possessively held Sherlock. What if they were dancing tonight and that man asked to cut in? Or if he asked Sherlock first? John felt his stomach twisting with anger and jealousy. 

"I meant, do you think we'll be dancing again tonight? With each other?"

John shrugged. "Maybe," he said. He was screaming at himself in his head. He wanted to dance with Sherlock -- to be close and hold him again but his stupid mouth wouldn't say the words. 

Sherlock looked over at John and smiled a little. They walked back to the hotel in silence. "I might get a drink at the bar while you shower," Sherlock said as they went in. "Or do you want to join me?"

John paused as he laid out his suit. "I . . . you don't have to wait for me." He didn't want Sherlock to go and find that man.

"John, I asked you a question -- remember the whole 'I should be clearer' thing? Let's try again. Should I go on my own or do you want to join me? I just thought it'd be something to do instead of sitting here listening to you get ready. However, if you want to join me, I'll wait," Sherlock said. He wished he knew what was going on in John's head when he so clearly wasn't saying precisely what he meant.

John flushed and went into the bathroom. "If you want to go meet up with your boyfriend just go," he said, shutting the door. He leaned against it and hit his head against the wood. He was such an idiot. He didn't know why he said it that way, he didn't know why he was annoyed, but now he'd messed up because he couldn't control himself. He sighed and got into the shower, trying to think of another way to spin it.

Sherlock stared up at the door. Now that was a comment for which he had not been in the slightest prepared. The drink had nothing to do with Victor; it honestly had just been a way to kill time and, possibly Sherlock admitted to himself, work up a little liquid courage for the dinner, which would inevitably involve speaking to people he did not know, an event that filled him with dread. That's all it was and why precisely John had automatically leapt to Victor, Sherlock had no idea.

Sherlock felt annoyed but also . . . concerned? Guilty? Sorry? He wasn't sure which adjective described the feeling. But it was irrelevant -- whatever his reaction actually was, he was in no position to share it. John was in the bathroom, for god's sake. What was he going to do -- burst in and have an argument? Stand on the other side of the door and try to explain unfamiliar feelings as John leaned over the sink brushing his teeth? He couldn't picture saying what he wanted to say -- he didn't even know what he wanted to say -- so Sherlock did the only thing he could think to do: he went down to the bar to get a drink.

John hesitated getting out of the shower, nervous about facing Sherlock after what he'd said. He knew this was going to be hard, but he needed to keep his feelings about this guy under control. But it wasn't even that guy. It was Sherlock's feelings for that guy. Or old feelings. That he didn't have for John. He shook his head because he was getting dangerously close to admitting that he wanted Sherlock to feel them for him now.

He got out of the bathroom slowly, but Sherlock was gone. He sighed, a bit relieved as he started to get dressed. At least, they couldn't cause a scene in front of everyone. They would have to fake it and just talk about it later. He made his way downstairs and kept telling himself that everything was fine - that he needed to keep his cool and just be normal. He found Sherlock and his stomach flipped wildly as he approached him.

Sherlock sat down at the bar and ordered a drink. He stared across, looking at the labels on the bottles and the different hues of the liquids inside them. He really wasn't sure what John's problem was. They had had such a nice day together -- they hadn't really done much but it really had been a nice day. At least Sherlock thought it had been. Bu then John went all weird. Were the good day and John's weirdness connected? Did this have to do with John's insecurity about the reunion? He hoped not. He came because he wanted John to feel better about himself. He hadn't wanted to make it worse. He finished his drink and stood to go back to the room and sort this out. It was then he realised he didn't have a key to get back in. So he sat back down and ordered another drink. He had just about finished it when he saw John walking up him. He was dressed in his suit; his hair just a bit damp yet from his shower. He looked incredibly handsome actually. He glanced up at John's face. It looked normal, neutral, almost happy or rather it would have to anyone who didn't know John. But Sherlock knew John. Sherlock knew this problem had yet to pass.

He ordered a drink for John and slid it over to him as John sat down on the stool next to Sherlock. "I've still got a half hour, yeah?" he asked, taking a sip of his drink. "I'll go get ready as soon as I finish this."

"Yeah, that's fine," John murmured as he took a sip from his drink. "You have time."

"Will you come up with me or are you just going to stay down here?"

"I'll stay here. You can get ready in peace," John said. He tried to laugh as if he'd made a joke but it was awkward.

"John," Sherlock said, reaching out a grabbing his arm. The problem was . . . he didn't know what else to say. So he let go of John's arm, downed the rest of his drink and stood up. "I won't be long," he said. "But I need the room key."

John flushed when Sherlock touched him but kept his eyes fixed on his drink. He waited, holding his breath, and then the moment was over. John fished out the room key and handed it to Sherlock. "Here you go," he said, both hands moving to his drink again. How could things have turned so awkward so fast? Now he could hardly look at Sherlock.


	4. Confrontation

Sherlock rushed up to the room, jumping into the shower and getting dressed. He stood looking in the mirror. He messed with his hair and then looked at his face. He took a deep breath. He had wanted to come so John didn't feel bad showing up alone. He had wanted to come to have fun with John. He had thought those things were happening. But now it didn't feel like that. He took another deep breath. He still wanted those things. He didn't want John to feel bad. He wanted to have fun.

He headed downstairs. When he turned the corner, he saw John at the bar. He smiled. And then he realised John was talking to Victor and Sam.

John had tried to avoid Sam's eye when he noticed they were in the bar as well, but it hadn't worked at all. They asked about Sherlock -- well, Victor asked which annoyed John even more -- and then proceeded to explain why Sherlock had come along. He didn't out right say they were dating, but he implied that was the reason Sherlock was here. 

"Not the John Watson I knew!" Sam teased. 

"Well, that's what I thought as well but after meeting Sherlock . . ." John trailed off just then as he spotted Sherlock heading over. He always dressed nicely, but tonight . . . John licked his lips lightly and looked down at his drink, cheeks flushed.

"Wow, John, I can see why he turned you," Sam said, also looking over at Sherlock. Victor grinned and stepped forward a bit to get more into the conversation. When Sherlock arrived, John tugged him closer.

Sherlock wanted to get away from them. He had nothing to say and, even though he didn't understand why, Victor's presence seemed to upset John and he didn't want that. 

"Well, let me shake your hand," Sam said, pushing his hand towards Sherlock. "I'm surprised, I'll admit it, but I'm glad it's all worked out for the best."

Sherlock instinctively shook his hand, but he had no idea what he was talking about. He glanced at Victor, who looked at John and then at Sam. And that's when he knew.

John had told Sam about Victor and Sherlock.

He glanced at John, who seemed to be standing closer than usual. Why did he do this -- was he trying to hurt Sherlock in some way? No, it was because the relationship was bothering John and if John was suffering, he wanted someone else to suffer as well. He had tried to upset Sherlock upstairs but it didn't work out so he had to turn to the only other people available, Sam and Victor. Sherlock looked over at Victor apologetically. It had been awkward running into him, but my god, this was a million times worse.

He could not think of what to say to Sam so instead he turned to John and said, "Should we go to dinner?"

"Yes. We'll see you around then," John smiled before taking Sherlock's hand and pulling him along. When they were seated, he let go and smoothed his trousers just for something to do.

Sherlock leaned over, putting his mouth close to John's ear. "I don't know what's going on, John, but I really thought better of you than to deliberately try to hurt a friend." He leaned back and tried to catch the waiter's attention.

John flushed and blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry about what I said upstairs," he whispered.

"That's as may be, but for fuck's sake, don't try to hurt him as well," Sherlock said. "I thought you were better than that." He sat silently waiting until the server brought their drinks. "Let's just try to get through this, okay?" he asked, taking a sip.

"What the hell are you talking about?" John hissed quietly. "Who else am I hurting? I didn't tell them I said that to you!" He really didn't want to do this right now, especially not here. Someone was starting to make a speech. John leaned closer. "I haven't said anything to them about what we talked about."

Sherlock looked over at John and tried to decide if he were telling the truth. "Then what was Sam talking about? You didn't tell him that Victor and I used to be together?"

"No! That's their business," John said, trying to keep his voice down. "I only explained why you're here with me and I was a bit vague, I guess, and I let them assume what they wanted."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock said. "You told them you and I are a couple?"

"I think they assumed that. I didn't correct them," John shrugged.

Sherlock looked over at him. "You spend the whole trip down here telling me that you hate when people assume you are something you're not and now you're deliberately encouraging people to think we're a couple. Why is that?" He paused for a moment. "Oh my god, John -- it's because of him, isn't it?"

"What? No," John said, but he could hear his own voice -- he was lying and Sherlock would know. 

"You're lying," Sherlock said. "To what end were you putting on this facade? He probably thinks it's hilarious we're together. Or were you trying to impress your friend? Well, you've not thought this through, have you? How impressed will he be that you are picking up his boyfriend's sloppy seconds?" His voice was calm, but he was so confused and angry and confused about why he was so angry.

"No! I just . . . that's not what happened. I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's all done now," he said. He leaned over his food and started to eat, hoping that Sherlock would drop it. He didn't want to talk about this -- he didn't want to admit what he was feeling all of a sudden. Sherlock wouldn't believe him. Or worse he'd reject him again and John didn't want to face it. 

Sherlock fiddled with his food, staring down at the plate. He finished his drink and ordered them another round. When he looked up to take the drink, he saw Victor and Sam come into the room. He looked over at John. He pushed his plate away and took another drink. "All right then," he said, moving his chair closer to John's. "You want them to think we're together? Fine.” He lifted a hand to John's head, running his fingers through his hair and looking at him lovingly.

John flushed. "That's not -- you don't have to be obnoxious about it! If you over do it, you won't be able to flirt with him or whatever. He's the only one you want anyways," John said. 

"No, John," Sherlock said, leaning in close to him. "I want you -- that's what you want him to think. Anyone else in the world, you'd die before they thought that, but him, you want him to believe it. Fine. Let's convince him." He nuzzled against John's neck. "Is this good? Do you think this is fooling him?"

"Fuck off," John said, pushing his chair out and moving away from the table. "You don't have to be an arse about it. Just . . . just stop," John said, not able to form a proper sentence. He wasn't making any sense. He stormed off and headed for the room, embarrassed and fuming. He reached for the key and remembered Sherlock had it. He hit the door and sighed, leaning his head against it. 

Sherlock finished his drink. He glanced up at Sam and Victor, who looked over and caught his eye. Sherlock was sure he smirked. He stood up and walked after John. He found him standing outside the room. He walked up, unlocked the door and went inside. He sat down in the chair and said calmly, "I think I know what's going on, John."

John turned away from Sherlock when he approached but then he saw Sherlock go into the room, so he closed the door and followed. "I don't think you do, actually," he said. 

"You hate that I was once involved with someone. You liked being with me because whenever you felt bad about being alone, you'd look at me and think 'Well, at least I'm better off than Sherlock who has always been alone.' And now you know that's not true and you hate that thought."

"How dare you?" John asked softly, standing up and pacing. "I have never thought anything like that about you and I hate that you think I ever would. You're my friend and whatever way you decide to live your life is fine with me. I just -- God, you're so far off from everything. You're so wrong this time."

"Then what is it then? It bothers you so much that your friends think you don't have a girlfriend that you'd rather lie and pretend you've got a boyfriend? I don't understand, John," Sherlock said.

John ran his hands through his hair and sighed heavily. "Why him?" 

"What? What do you mean?"

"You told me you didn't do this sort of thing. You thought I was hitting on you and you said you didn't date. You only had your work." He licked his lips and turned to walk away from him now as he continued. "But you do date. Just not me. And what's . . . what's wrong with me? I'm such a repulsive choice you had to claim complete abstinence?" He felt his cheeks heating and his stomach twisting with nerves. He could hardly believe what he was saying, what he was admitting.  

Sherlock sat silently for a moment, remembering that first night at Angelo's. Had John been hitting on him? He hadn't been sure at the time, but the more he got to know John, he was sure he hadn't been. "Were you hitting on me that night?" he asked.

"I don't know," John said honestly. He'd replayed it so much in his head that he couldn't remember how it actually went. "But you thought I was. And you turned me down hard. So I said I wasn't to save face," he shrugged. "And I thought it was fine because if you didn't do that sort of thing it didn't hurt as much. But you _do_ do that sort of thing and now it hurts again." He sank down on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh and stared at his hands. 

"I don't understand this, John," Sherlock said. "First of all, I don't do that sort of thing -- you know that, you live with me. And why would you care if I fancy you or not? You're not gay, remember? Ask anyone we know, god knows you've told them all enough."

John felt his cheeks flush. He knew he'd been doing that, and he knew that this would be hard to explain now. "I don't . . . I don't know," he said. He ran his hands through his hair again. "I don't know what to tell you, how to explain," he said. 

"You said you were hurt. Why?"

"Because when you thought I was hitting on you you felt like you had to make a whole thing about being married to your work. But you have dated before. Is it because he's taller? Smarter?" He glanced over but looked down at his hands quickly again. "It's pathetic but every time someone talks about how good of friends we are, I feel so proud because you don't have any friends. You're not close to anyone like that. But you dated him. You were much closer than friends and I don't like it. I wanted -- I want that."  

"No, you don't," Sherlock said. "Your insecurity is confusing you, John. Why him? Because we were twenty years old, that's why." He sat back in his chair. "For fuck's sake, do you not see the position you're putting me in, John? You want me to tell you I fancy you so you'll feel better. And then you'll say, thanks, Sherlock, but I'm not gay. You'll feel better and I'll feel worse. Why do you think I don't do any of that anymore?"

"I don't know why you don't!" John shouted. "I don't know anything anymore because I thought I wasn't gay and now I want my best friend to love me. Because I love him and I don't understand. I don't understand what is going on but I want -- I don't want you to hurt. And I don't want to hurt." Maybe he was bisexual. He'd admitted to finding men attractive before -- in the army and back in early university, but those things never went anywhere. Never past a quick thought. But with Sherlock: everything was different with Sherlock. 

"I don't want to be hurt again, John," Sherlock said. "You've spent months telling me you're not gay and now you find out I am and suddenly you're interested? You're only intrigued because you saw him." Suddenly Sherlock stood up. "Oh my god, John -- is that what today was about? You wanted . . . you wanted me to fancy you just . . . because you saw him?"

"No! Why aren't you listening to me?" John groaned. "It didn't matter before because you didn't _do_ that sort of thing. But he's proof that you do! So now your rejection -- it's not because you don't do that sort of thing but because I wasn't good enough to make the cut." He felt his cheeks burn and he stood up as well, moving for the bathroom. "You don't have to like me. If I'm not your type then that's fine but I wish you had said that instead of that you just don't date." He pushed the door open and paused. "I should have been honest as well. I should have stopped saying I wasn't gay the moment I thought I might be...something. The moment I realised I felt something for you. But I thought I had to hide it so you wouldn't reject me like you did that night." He knew it sounded stupid. He stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. 

Sherlock moved to the bathroom door. "John Watson, you're such an idiot sometimes," he said softly. He made a little cough and then said, "Have a good, good think now, John. Try to remember that night. I said I wasn't looking because I wasn't. I said I was married to my work because work doesn't break your heart. And you said you weren't asking and then spent the next few months telling me and everyone we know that you weren't interested. No one was rejected, John, because no one was propositioned." He put his hand up flat on the door. "Don't you know how much you mean to me? Don't you know I . . . have feelings for you? But I didn't think you wanted more than what we have. Just yesterday you yelled at me for even suggesting that we pretend we're together. How can you say I've confused you when I . . . you said it yourself, I'm not close to anyone but you. You know that. Everyone knows that. Please, John, help me understand."

"I said that -- I acted like that to cover it up," John said. "I said it too much and too loudly to try to convince myself that it was true. That I didn't want more because that would be easier. If I believed I only wanted friendship then the fact that you didn't want more would be okay because then we both didn't." He pushed on the door. "I'm sorry. Let's just go back to how it was before, please." 

"Why? Why go back and pretend none of this happened? If what you're saying is true, is that even possible? Stop lying to me and yourself. What is it you really want, John?" Sherlock asked.

"You," John said simply. "I just want you. I want more than friendship." 

"Are you sure it's not just because of him? Be honest."

John shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know how to answer that Sherlock because if we hadn't come here -- if I hadn't met him -- we'd still be doing what we were doing." 

"So maybe you are confused. If you didn't feel like this before . . . maybe it's just an unusual kind of jealousy. So maybe we should just go back to how it was before. Except now you know about him. And you know I would fancy you if you were that way. But more importantly, you know how much you mean to me."

John felt his stomach twist. "I don't like that," he said quietly. "Why didn't you say... why did you lie to me that day?"

"I didn't, John," Sherlock said. "I said I wasn't looking. I wasn't. I didn't say I never had. I . . .I just said my work was most important, which you know is true. I didn't lie."

John leaned his head on the door. "Okay. Well... I'm sorry I can't figure myself out and I dragged you down with me." He pushed the door again and wished there was a window he could sneak out of. He didn't know how they'd fix this now.

"Wait a minute, John," Sherlock said. "When I said we could back to how it was before, you said you wouldn't like that. Why? Please, John. Open this door and come out and let's sort this. I want to be us again . . . didn't you enjoy today? I did. I did . . . please, just tell me the truth."  
  
John tapped his head on the door a couple times before pulling it open and coming out into the room again. "The truth is that I fell in love with you and it terrifies me but I can't explain it because I've dug myself into this big 'not gay' hole and that might not be true now and the time I decide to test it is when I realise that you can have feelings like that for someone and I want it to be me so desperately that I acted like a compete arse in front of your ex."

John stopped rambling and took a deep breath, hoping everything he'd just said made a little bit of sense. "I guess that night I wanted you to fancy me and when you didn't I just put it away. You're the first man to make me feel more and you might very well be the last. I don't know what I'm supposed to do or what you want me to do."

"You did act a bit stupid, John," Sherlock said. "But I have a feeling what was going on in your head was much worse. Just come here for a minute." He held out his arms and pulled John into a hug. "It's all just new, John. That's all it is. And new things are . . . difficult. But we know each other now . . . we'll figure it out." He stroked John's back softly. When he thought he'd come on this trip to make John feel okay about himself, he hadn't really thought it'd end up like this. But his goal hadn't changed. He didn't really know what any of this meant -- how it would change things tonight or tomorrow or when they got home. But when John was upset, Sherlock's heart hurt and that had to mean something.

John pressed into Sherlock's body, buried into his chest, and wrapped his own arms around his waist. "I don't know what my head is still trying to figure out but this feels good," he said.

"It does, John," Sherlock said. "What I think you fail to recognise is that the sexual aspect of all this is less of an issue for me -- it's the feeling bit that I try to shut down. From day one, you've changed that and everyday you make me feel more." He held him softly, resting his chin on John's head.

"That's what you've done to me, Sherlock. Everyday, just a little bit, and I was confused but I wanted it. I wanted you," John said.

"If you did before this trip, I wish you had been clearer. I feel confused now about what to do," Sherlock said, still not letting him go.

"I suppose in many ways I've been confused since I met you," John admitted.

"What should I do?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged lightly. "If you don't fancy me . . . well, it's okay, Sherlock. Really. It's okay if I'm not your type or something. I'm sorry I got so upset."

"John, be serious -- are you really saying you're interested in . . . that stuff? The . . . gay business?" This felt pretty big. "I don't want you to say or do something you'll regret."

"I'm not going to regret it. Look. I have been attracted to men before, I guess, just mildly. I've never met a man that I liked enough to actually make a move. Until I met you. But I didn't think it'd ever happen and I just hated when people made assumptions." John was glad Sherlock hadn't let go yet. If this was the last time Sherlock would hold him like this, he wanted his fill.

"Okay, just . . . just hold on a moment," Sherlock said stepping back and sitting down on the bed. "This will . . . change things." He couldn't decide if he was more worried about John or about himself. When Victor left him, it had been so painful. Years later, he realised the trauma of the situation had less actually to do with Victor but with the vulnerability. John was such a better man that Victor was, but could Sherlock take that risk? Not only would he be hurt, he'd lose John. "I'm worried the changes will be too . . . much."

John licked his lips and nodded. "It's okay. I can move on and we can still be friends," he said quietly.

"John, what does that mean? Be clear," Sherlock said, standing up and walking across the room. "Now we're going to back to pretending none of this happened? Or what? Please, I'm begging you, be more clear."

"I don't know what to say. I want to try this -- to be with you."

Sherlock looked over. "Properly be with me? Like Sam and Victor?"

"Yes," John nodded, squeezing the edge of the bed.

"John, I . . . I don't think I'm very good at being with someone in that way. I've only had the one try and it . . . it didn't pan out very well," Sherlock said, looking down.

John looked away from him and nodded again. "I need you to be clear now."

"I liked dancing with you," Sherlock said. "I liked being close to you . . . physically, I mean." His voice was soft. "I recognise those feelings, John . . . I know what they mean." He swallowed hard. "Should we go back downstairs?" He stood up and walked over to stand before John. "Let's go dance again -- properly."

"Wait, Sherlock," John said. "What do you want to do about those feelings?" He grabbed Sherlock's waist and hand, slowly dancing right there in the room.

Sherlock looked down at John's face and whispered, "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," John nodded, swallowing hard and standing on his toes a bit.

Sherlock lifted his hands to John's cheek and held them for a moment. He looked at John's face for a moment. He knew what he was about to do was going to change everything -- for each of them separately and, of course, for them together. He moved his mouth to John's and softly kissed his lips.

Just like that, all the petty things John had been afraid of disappeared. Man, woman -- it didn't matter what Sherlock was because this felt good. So very good. Before he knew it, one hand was buried into the curls at the base of Sherlock's neck and the other was gripping his shirt so he wouldn't go anywhere. John pressed into the kiss hungrily, already needing more. 

Sherlock let his hands slip around John's head, which he tipped a little as he deepened the kiss. He was amazed they'd never done this before -- it felt so right, so natural, so . . . good. He didn't want it to end but he knew it had to, so he pulled back and whispered, "Was that okay?"

John whined softly as Sherlock's lips pulled away. He gazed up at him as he tried to steady his breathing, nodding. "Yes. I thought so. Was it?" he asked softly, letting his feet fall flat again. He also loosened his hands, trying not to hold on so tightly. 

"I thought so," Sherlock said. He smiled. "Unless you think we should try again to do better?"

"Perhaps we should."

Sherlock kissed John again. This time he let his arms fall to John's back and he pulled him in close. He let himself get lost for a moment.


	5. Resolution

Then he stepped back. "Okay, then, I think that was better," he said. He loosened his tie and kicked off his shoes before sitting down on the bed and reaching over to turn on the lamp. "Now," he said. "I'd like to see if it'll be normal between us." He reached over for the remote and turned on the television.

"But it'll be different," John said, kicking off his own shoes and climbing up beside Sherlock.

"We'll see," Sherlock said. "Look, you've had a couple drinks and not very much to eat. If you don't want to go back downstairs, why don't we order room service?" He sat up and reached into the drawer for a menu.

"Oh yeah," John smiled, looking over at the menu. "Yes. That sounds very good."

Sherlock watched John looking at the menu. It was the same John as at home. But a bit different. He lifted his hand and fussed with John's hair. "Whatever you order, get a large so I can pick, please," he said, handing John the phone.

John smiled and ordered a few things, leaning against him again and looking at the telly. "And now what?"

"I'll let you choose what we watch," Sherlock said, dropping the remote on John's lap. "I reserve the right to complain about your choice, of course."

"I chose the food," John said, dropping the remote back in his lap.

Sherlock flipped the channel to a kid's cartoon. "This," he said, setting the remote on the table. He leaned back and put an arm around John's shoulder. "This bed's comfier than our sofa."

"Yeah," John agreed. "Maybe we need a new sofa or a bed instead," he grinned.

They watched the television for a bit and then there was a knock at the door. Sherlock got up to get the food and brought it back to the bed. "Let's eat on this one and we can sleep in the other one. If you want to, I mean," he said as he sat back down.

John nodded. "That's a good idea because you're a terribly messy eater," he teased. He pulled the lid off of the plate and started eating. "I liked what you did at dinner," he admitted suddenly. "Not your reason, of course, but it felt good. You know. Kissing my neck."

"I'll keep that information in mind," Sherlock said. "I wonder how I knew?" He picked some food off of John's plate. "You're not disappointed about missing the dinner?"

John shook his head. "This is better," he said.

"Are you planning on staying dressed up all night?"

"No," John said. "But I don't strip down until after dinner." He smiled and loosened his tie a little. "There."

"Don't spill on yourself," Sherlock said. "Oh my god," he turned and looked at John. "I'm nagging you, aren't I?"

"See? And then you yell at me but now you know how easy it is!" John laughed.

"No, I won't become that," Sherlock said. "Spill all over yourself for all I care." He dipped his finger in the ketchup and wiped it on John's cheek.

"Hey!" John laughed, leaning to wipe his cheek on Sherlock's shoulder. "Your shirt's dirty -- you have to take it off," he said matter-of-factly.

"Don't be a pervert -- we're eating dinner, John. Clothes stay on."

John sighed dramatically before wiping more ketchup on his shirt. "Okay." 

"What's got into you?" Sherlock said, laughing. Then he stopped and said, "Are you having fun or are you nervous?"

John considered the question. "Both. But mostly fun," he said.

"It's okay," Sherlock said and petted John's arm a little. He picked up another chip and ate it.

"I know," John smiled, looking over at him.

They finished eating and Sherlock put the tray outside the door. "I think I'll get ready for bed now." He grabbed his pajamas and went into the bathroom. He changed and brushed his teeth. He looked in the mirror. He wondered what John saw when he looked at Sherlock. He wondered what exactly was going to happen tonight. He stepped out of the bathroom.

John had changed into his own pajamas while Sherlock was in the bathroom. He went to brush his own teeth before coming back and sitting on the other bed. "Here, right?"

"Yeah . . . if you're comfortable with it," Sherlock said. He got into the bed. He leaned over and turned off the lamp so the only light was from the television. "Should we watch a bit more of this?" he asked, putting his arm around John and pulling him a little closer.

"I haven't been paying attention," he admitted quietly, watching Sherlock's face.

"It's a cartoon, John, I think you'll be able to figure out what's going on," Sherlock said. Then he turned and look over at John. "Let's just relax a little, yeah? I think I'm a bit nervous." He pulled John a little closer and went back to looking at the television.

John smiled and settled against him, watching the telly. "Don't be nervous," he murmured.

"Well . . ." Sherlock said, but then he realised that even though this was new, it was still John. John was the same even if they were doing something different. "Okay," he said. He turned his head and kissed John again, softly but lingering as long as he could.

John hummed softly and kissed back, keeping it soft like Sherlock was.

Sherlock lifted his hand to John's head as he slid their bodies so they were lying next to each other. He turned his body towards him, moving as close as possible without actually getting on top of him. He recognised all the urges he was feeling -- it'd been a long time, but he recognised and enjoyed them.

John opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, bringing a hand up to Sherlock's cheek and shifting easily with him.

Sherlock pressed even closer into John, dropping his hand to John's hip. "Tell me if you want to stop," he whispered before moving down to suck on John's neck.

John lifted his head and breathed out a soft no. "Please don't stop," he murmured. His fingers found Sherlock's hair again as heat spread right down to his toes.

Sherlock slid his hands under John's t-shirt, spreading them across the skin of John's back. He dropped down and licked a line across John's collarbone before lifting to kiss his mouth -- this time more roughly and insistent.

John moaned and returned the kiss eagerly, his own hands moving over Sherlock's shirt. He wanted it gone -- he wanted to feel and see more of him. He broke the kiss to dip down and kiss his neck, sucking and licking and biting softly.  

Sherlock could feel himself getting hard and pressed against John. He lifted John's shirt over his head and then took off his own. He covered John's neck with kisses then moved down to suck on each of his nipples as his hand moved up to get lost in John's hair.

John arched his body into Sherlock's mouth, panting softly now. "Sherlock, you're making me crazy," he sighed, trying to pull him up for another kiss. 

"I hope that's good," Sherlock said. He let a hand drift to John's arse and squeezed the firm muscles of his cheek. Then he moved it to John's hip and then between John's legs, squeezing his thigh first before sliding up and palming his cock through his pajama bottoms as he continued to kiss John's mouth.

"Fuck," John moaned loudly. He bucked up into Sherlock's hand, heat building in his belly. "I want to touch you, please."

Sherlock pulled off his own pajama bottoms and then John's. He held John's cock, hot and hard, in his hand as his kisses on John's mouth grew more intense. Then he started a slow stroke.

John gasped softly and moved into his hand, cursing the height difference as he reached down for Sherlock's cock. He shifted to give them both a good hold, moving his hand over Sherlock's cock more easily. "Fuck," he moaned again, leaning up to kiss Sherlock a bit sloppily.

"John," Sherlock exhaled. "It feels so . . . good." It did. He wasn't nervous anymore -- he remembered what to do and it all felt right.

"You do," John murmured, kissing along his neck again. He couldn't get enough of him.

"Can I . . ." Sherlock started to ask but instead just moved on top of John. They both had to shift slightly, but then they were back into a slow rhythm, this time with Sherlock's hips rolling against John's hand.

"Can you what?" John asked softly.

"I just need to be closer," Sherlock said. Now he was lying completely on top of John, straddling him as rolled his hips against him. He looked up and kissed his mouth again, before pulling John's hands above his head and then trailing his tongue down John's chest. Sherlock shifted his body lower and lifted John's cock, tipping it into his mouth. He swirled his tongue as he licked and sucked on it.

Sherlock was already so close to coming -- it'd been so long since he'd done anything like this. He kept sucking John's cock, sometimes dropping down to lick across his balls or nip at his thighs. Finally, he lifted his head and said, "Do you have a condom?"

John thought about what he'd brought with him and knew he didn't pack one. "No," he sighed, tugging at Sherlock's hair lightly. "Please."

Sherlock moved himself up John's body and lay next to him. "That's okay . . . next time," he said, smiling. He reached down to hold John's cock, still wet from his mouth. He started a steady, firm stroke and leaned into suck on John's neck. "I've not missed this," he whispered. "But god, it feels good."

"I want you to need me all the time," John smiled, gripping Sherlock and matching his stroke.

Sherlock looked down at their hands and then up at John's eyes. "Is this how you like it? Tell me if you want something different . . ." he managed to squeeze the words out in between small pants.

"I'm close, Sherlock," John moaned softly, looking down at the both of them. "It's good . . ."

"I want to see you, John, I want to see you at the precise second you let go," Sherlock huffed, speeding up his stroke and letting his own hips thrust with all the movement. "Let go," he said, pressing his mouth softly against John's forehead.

"Fuck," John moaned loudly, coming hard into his hand and all over their bellies. He called out for Sherlock,  bucking against him.

Sherlock's muscles tightened and he too let go. Although his body barely indicated it, he came as John did, both of their stomachs now wet with each other. He exhaled slowly and said, "God, that was beautiful, John." He pressed his head against John's.

"Good" was all John could pant out at first. He kissed Sherlock softly as he caught his breath.

"It felt good, John, but promise me . . . tomorrow everything'll be okay," Sherlock said softly, cuddling into him.   
  
"Everything will be okay, Sherlock," John said, closing his own eyes. John had no logical explanation for why he felt like that -- he knew these changes were big and could have consequences. But he also knew he felt relaxed and happy and good. "Everything will be okay," he repeated and he knew it was true.


End file.
